


Monarchists and Their Discontents

by M J Holyoke (wholeyolk)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Getting Together, Identity Porn, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, One-sided pining, Politics, Rare Pairs Exchange 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:54:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25579177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholeyolk/pseuds/M%20J%20Holyoke
Summary: Ien paused his recitation, looking up from the draft parchment laid out on his writing desk in order to check on Stephon’s reaction. “Well, what do you think?” he asked, eyes bright, face as eager as a puppy anticipating a choice cut of meat from the supper table. “So? Does that sound good to you, Stef?”“Ah, Ien, you know I’m just an old soldier possessing little talent with words,” Stephon said. He didn’t really understand political philosophy. If not for—well, never mind that for now.
Relationships: Exiled Warrior King/Man He's Protective of Who Doesn't Know Who He Used to Be, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 5
Kudos: 33
Collections: Rare Pairs Exchange 2020





	Monarchists and Their Discontents

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Plaid_Slytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plaid_Slytherin/gifts).



“We hereby rely upon the respective expertise of the relevant scholar class to craft legislation. We further hereby rely upon the respective expertise of the relevant enforcement class to administer the functions of government. In the context of such an organizational regime, therefore, the monarch becomes final adjudicator and symbolic lotus of the burg-state’s moral authority. This regime shall best guarantee the well-being of all the burg-state’s subject peoples.”

Ien paused his recitation, looking up from the draft parchment laid out on his writing desk in order to check on Stephon’s reaction. “Well, what do you think?” he asked, eyes bright, face as eager as a puppy anticipating a choice cut of meat from the supper table. “So? Does that sound good to you, Stef?”

“Ah, Ien, you know I’m just an old soldier possessing little talent with words,” Stephon said. He didn’t really understand political philosophy. If not for—well, never mind that for now. In any event, he’d always styled himself a warrior first and foremost, not a scholar. Nevertheless, he had only the highest regard for Ien—for various reasons, Ien had little inkling of just how much. “But if anyone can persuade the noble burghers of the enduring merits of non-hereditary, parliamentary government, then I do believe it would be you.”

Ien’s pleased expression made Stephon’s chest ache with sweet-sharp pain. The journeyman clerk was so handsome and yet so completely without artifice. He had no idea how attractive he was or, for that matter, how attracted Stephon felt toward him.

“Fantastic!” Ien cried. He was so excited he was hopping from foot to foot. “You’ll come with me this afternoon when I present the lecture at the burg-hall, won’t you, Stef?”

“It would be my honor and my pleasure to accompany you, Ien,” Stephon replied.

* * *

Stephon had survived many battles, yes, but he wasn’t just “an old soldier.” Ien didn’t know the truth. Or not the whole truth, anyway.

And what was the whole truth? The whole truth was that once upon a time, when Stephon was as young as Ien, he had been the ruler of one of the largest, most powerful burg-states. He had come of age embroiled in military conflict. He’d led armies; he ruled not with the scepter but rather with the sword. Constant battles and ever-shifting alliances between rival burg-states had meant the lands between the oceans had been wracked by constant upheaval. Many had died, and many more had been displaced from their homes.

Ten years ago, Stephon had been deposed and exiled by the noble burghers. They who had previously been his most loyal subjects had decided that what they wanted most of all was peace. Their ruler had been but a small price to pay for it. The best years of his youth far behind him, Stephon had become just another anonymous itinerant laborer, offering services at a pittance ranging from personal security to household menial labor.

This, then, was how he’d come into Ien’s service some months ago. Ien was a journeyman clerk who kept careful burgher accounts during the day and composed eloquent political pamphlets at night. The rather more mundane requirements of his modest household were, thanks to his elevated life of the mind, comparatively neglected, and as such, he’d hired Stephon to take care of those tasks for him in exchange for room and board.

It was a straightforward and undemanding job, and Ien was a reasonable, generous employer. Any menial laborer might have envied Stephon’s situation—he had no cause for complaint. Even so, whenever Stephon watched Ien in his unguarded moments, writing a new pamphlet, say, or working through his ideas by sounding off on anyone (and everyone!) who happened by, he couldn’t help but wish for _more_.

* * *

“Stand down, you imbecile!” someone shouted from above. The burg-hall theater balcony was so crowded and raucous that Stephon couldn’t identify the individual who might have hurled that insult at Ien.

“I will not stand down, good sir, for I am of firm belief in the correctness of my position,” Ien replied. For as long as he stood upon the podium, he could not be forced off of it. Those were the rules of the debate. “Though we have been fortunate in our robust recovery after the Crown Wars, we should not expect to continue unscathed. Our five closest neighbor burg-states have unseated their respective rulers and instituted collective governance via burgher parliaments. Monarchists everywhere are in a precarious position, and an orderly, moderate amount of reform before the chaos which has overtaken our neighbors spreads to us.”

“You would unseat our revered ruler!” shouted another voice from above. The audience was being downright vicious tonight…but then, people were always most cruel to their fellows when there were afraid, Stephon reflected. And there was no question they were afraid the unrest which had, among other things, led to Stephon’s own exile, would spread to their own burg-state.

“For shame, for shame!” several voices began to chant.

Ien’s expression firmed; their opposing conviction was only hardening his own. He never looked more attractive than when he was defending his philosophical beliefs. “I do not advocate the exile of any burgher, good sir, be he ruler, noble, or commoner. In fact, I believe my reforms will protect the monarchy by—”

Stephon barely noticed the dark shadow with the shining silver blade slipping into the theater behind Ien. “For our ruler!” the dark shadow shouted and lunged, silver blade leading, at Ien’s back.

“No!” Stephon shouted, rushing to intercept and grabbing at the hand which held the blade. He missed, and the blade slashed his cheek, but Ien’s would be attacker was unable to resist when Stephon plowed bodily into him and brought them both to the ground. Stephon managed to draw his own sword and hold it against his opponent’s throat. “Yield!” he hissed.

“Never!”

“Yield!” Stephon repeated. “I love that man; he means the world to me. You mean less than _nothing_. I will not hesitate to cut your life away.”

“Never!” the attacker repeated, his voice rising in volume to a shriek that filled the entire burg-hall. “I will never, never, _never_ yield to—Ruler Stephon?!”

Pandemonium erupted in the burg-hall as the audience in the balcony realized exactly whom Ien had taken into his household employ.

* * *

The attack had effectively ended the debate that night. Any resolution would be put on indefinite hold.

“I wish you had told me,” Ien said.

“I’m sorry,” Stephon replied. “But the politics—I—”

Ien shook his head as he rubbed poultice into the cut on Stephon’s cheek. His eyes were concerned. Was it possible that he’d ever looked more beautiful? “I don’t mean that, Stef. I don’t care about that. But I do wish you had told me how you _felt_.”

Stephon was an old soldier possessing little talent with words, so he took a chance and kissed Ien instead. That, honestly, said all he wanted to say.


End file.
